Radical

by Michelle Rhee

  My staff reviewed each recommendation and then approved the final list of 266 teachers to be cut. Seniority would not be the deciding factor.

  No more LIFO: last in, first out.

  We briefed Mayor Fenty at a senior staff meeting. Fenty’s reelection was a year away. His staff members worried that we would get slaughtered in the media, and Fenty would suffer.

  “I am okay if you want to rethink this,” I told Fenty.

  “Are we laying off the people who are adding the least to the classroom?” he asked. “If that’s the case, it’s the right thing to do.”

  Some voiced concerns about the political repercussions.

  “We haven’t made any decisions based on politics yet,” he said. “The minute we start doing that, it’s a slippery slope. We can’t go back.”

  With the mayor’s blessing, we proceeded with the layoffs. Notices went out on October 2. Except for an unfortunate incident at McKinley High, where police had to escort some teachers out, the layoffs went smoothly.

  The reaction was not as placid.

  A week later the unions rallied on Freedom Plaza, a broad expanse across Pennsylvania Avenue from the Wilson Building. They came in force from across the city and the country. They set up port-a-potties and rented a stage with lights. My favorite sign: “This is not Rheezistan.” Another read: “Sweep Her Out.”

  Richard Trumka, who had just been elected president of the AFL-CIO, accused me of union-busting and said to the crowd: “The labor movement is right here with you. We’ll stand shoulder to shoulder with you for as long as it takes.”

  Randi Weingarten took the microphone to say, “We are not getting any real, valid, truthful information from DCPS.”

  That was not quite true. We had briefed union leadership.

  The day before the rally, the union had taken the city to court to enjoin it from executing the layoffs. The union argued that the layoffs were a deliberate effort to get rid of veteran teachers, since we had hired more than nine hundred new teachers over the summer—before we learned of the budget cuts. The lawyers argued their cases in early November. We prevailed when we showed the data that undeniably proved that we’d laid off teachers of different years of experience, race, and age. The differentiating factor was their effectiveness compared with the others at their school.

  On Tuesday, November 24, Superior Court judge Judith Bartnoff denied the union’s claims. We received the decision at 10:45 a.m. I knew Kurt Schmoke was meeting with union negotiators at noon. We let him know about the decision.

  “You not only lost, but you lost badly,” Schmoke told the union.

  I took no pleasure in the entire process, from choosing teachers to fire, to seeing people lose their jobs, to being the target of protesters, to being sued. But the rallies didn’t affect me. They were noise. I knew Mayor Fenty had my back. I was safe and simply kept pushing ahead.

  The effect of the firings surprised me. Teachers suddenly realized we already had the power to lay people off based on performance rather than seniority. I started hearing teachers talk about getting the contract done. If they were vulnerable to getting fired, they at least wanted the raises we were preparing to deliver. Rank-and-file teachers started pushing the union negotiators to make a deal.

  I wish I could say it had been deliberate on my part, but I am not that smart.

  IN THE MIDST OF the drama, Kevin Johnson came to D.C. for a visit. On a cool October evening he took me to see a performance of A Streetcar Named Desire at the Kennedy Center. Afterward, we drove through downtown D.C. We pulled over in front of the Capitol. He pointed out the window.

  “That’s where we were sitting during the inauguration, do you remember?” he asked. He’d been invited to Obama’s inauguration, and we had had amazing seats atop the Capitol for the swearing-in.

  I peered up to where he was pointing, but it was dark outside.

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Come on!” he said, and dragged me out of the car.

  I wasn’t thrilled. It was cold, wet, and rainy outside, but my man wanted to reminisce, so I went along.

  Standing at the fountain at the foot of the West Lawn, he asked, “Do you love me?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  “Then marry me,” he said.

  He pulled a wad of toilet paper out of his jacket and unwound it to produce the ring. It was beautiful.

  “Yes,” I said.

  My life was about to change—in more ways than one.

  AFTER THE LAYOFFS, A different Randi Weingarten came to the negotiating table. At first she refused to negotiate or talk to me. Then, suddenly, she became agreeable. I wondered why.

  One reason may have been that the WTU rank and file was hungry for raises. They had not had a salary increase in three years. They knew our contract proposal included healthy raises, going back retroactively and forward for years.

  Schmoke ordered another series of marathon sessions. We came to an agreement on the most contentious issues, one at a time. We settled mutual consent and seniority under our terms because the union already had seen us fire people without regard to seniority. We accepted tenure but changed the terms. It was no longer a guarantee of lifetime employment. Under this contract, tenure allowed teachers to use a due process mechanism to guard against what they considered unfair dismissal, but it was quick. And ineffective teachers could swiftly be dismissed from the system.

  “If this is tenure,” Joel Klein said, “sign me up!”

  Kurt Schmoke’s solution to performance pay helped make the rest of the contract palatable to Randi Weingarten. The language said we would propose a merit pay system without spelling it out. But the contract began to describe a program where teachers could opt into a pay-for-performance system that could add $20,000 to $30,000 to their salaries if they could show significant improvement in student test scores. A top-performing teacher could be making $147,000.

  Finally, the best teachers would be rewarded for their talent and dedication.

  In the end, I was under no illusion: money talked. We agreed to pay increases that would raise the average annual salary of our teachers from $67,000 to $81,000, comparable to their counterparts in the suburbs. I remembered what George Parker said when I asked him to go “mano a mano” in 2007.

  “If you want to bring stuff like merit pay and tenure to the table,” he had said, “you had better bring a whole lot of money with you.”

  I did. Much of it came from foundations that had agreed to finance my reforms.

  We signed a tentative agreement on April 5, 2010.

  The agreement in the end was even better for us than the red-green system. In the new contract, no teacher would have “tenure,” a permanent job for life. Seniority would no longer be a determining factor of staffing, and our best teachers would be recognized for their work. It wasn’t just a choice for those who opted in. It would apply to the entire workforce.

  I called my senior staff in to congratulate our team and give “full credit” to the WTU and AFT.

  “I am incredibly confident that this contract is going to be a game-changer,” I said. “We are paying out the nose for it, but it’s going to serve the children well. It could be a model, nationwide. Now we have to produce the results that go with it.”

  The contract went to the Washington Teachers’ Union members in mid-May. On Tuesday, June 2, 2010, they approved the pact, 80 percent to 20 percent.

  Randi Weingarten was extremely involved in the details of how we would announce the contract, who would speak at the press conference, and what they would say. I relented to her wishes. There would be no gloating on my part, little grousing from her, and a modicum of backslapping.

  “At the end of the day,” Weingarten said at the press conference, “this is still one of the industrial model contracts where a lot of the authority is reposed in the chancellor herself.”

  I didn’t feel the need to disagree.

  Brad Jupp, a senior adviser to U.S. Secretary of Educati
on Arne Duncan, read the contract and declared it “more revolutionary than the Declaration of Independence.”

  In the contract, we made some breakthroughs: mutual consent for all placements and no more last in, first out. Tenure and seniority no longer ruled. Teachers would be evaluated on how well they taught rather than how long they had been teaching.

  But the contract was good for teachers in many ways, beyond pay. We organized teacher centers for professional development. We established discipline policies that teachers favored. The contract provided better classroom resources.

  We worked out a contract that, taken as a whole, could go an incredibly long way in beginning to change the dynamic, to make teaching something that the most talented people aspire to do and a profession they wanted to stay in. That was the most rewarding part for me.

  ADRIAN FENTY CHOSE DECEMBER 5, 2009, his birthday, to kick off his campaign for a second term. One of his supporters opened his home to hundreds of friends, family, and supporters.

  Outside the lovely home and expansive grounds, union members protested in the streets. As KMJ and I walked in, he put his arm around me protectively. More than a few carried signs saying “Rhee Must Go” and hurled insults as we walked by.

  Despite the protesters, at that point I figured Fenty was a lock for another four years. No one had stepped forward to run against him. Crime was falling. City services were running smoothly. Fenty’s high standards for accountability had permeated the government. His administration had fixed schools and playgrounds from one corner of D.C. to the other. He had begun to house the city’s homeless. Wasn’t he unbeatable?

  What I didn’t know, thanks to my sheltered existence in the education bubble, was that many Washingtonians saw Adrian Fenty as remote, dismissive, and arrogant. In his focus on making the government and schools run well, he neglected to make nice with people, whether they were in business, health care, hospitality, or politics. They complained that he would arrive late to community or business meetings and leave early. He wasn’t playing politics at the retail level. To me, it made sense: he was focused on results.

  When poet Maya Angelou and African American leader Dorothy Height tried to meet with Fenty about the closing of a tennis center in a black community, he declined. Blacks saw his willingness to dedicate bicycle lanes and build dog parks as favoring white communities. He refused to kiss the rings of the established old guard who traced their roots and contracts back to the days when Marion Barry was mayor. Critics accused him of bestowing city contracts on his friends. The city council investigated and came up empty, but the accusations of cronyism stuck.

  Although he came from the city council, or perhaps because of it, Fenty dedicated little time to most of the thirteen legislators. He rarely met with Chairman Vincent Gray. Peeved that Fenty disregarded him and prodded by some members of the city’s establishment, Gray declared himself a candidate on March 30, 2010.

  FOR THE NEXT FOUR months running up to the September primary, much of the campaign revolved around me and our education reforms. Fenty and I were joined at the hip, for better or worse. I recalled asking Fenty before I took that job what he would be willing to risk to improve D.C. schools. “Everything,” he responded.

  Now “everything” was on the line.

  Closing schools had stung some African American communities, and they supported Gray. Unions threw millions into the race to demonize me for firing teachers. They were able to portray me and the mayor as the enemies of African Americans. Yes, some people lost their jobs, but we were focused on the future of African American children. It was an insane argument, in my mind, to say that we were against blacks, given that our primary focus and deep-seated goals were to ensure that African American students in the city were finally getting a decent education.

  But the negative narrative became reality, especially in black wards.

  Over the summer, as we neared the decisive Democratic primary on September 14, Fenty’s poll numbers started to drop. I wasn’t worried. But two Sundays before the election, the Washington Post published a poll that showed Fenty behind by double digits.

  Joel Klein read the polls and sent an email: “I just read this. We need to have a conversation about your future.”

  “Nope,” I wrote back. “I’m still convinced my boss is going to win. No conversation needed about my future.”

  New Jersey governor Chris Christie called.

  “Michelle,” he said, “I just saw the Washington Post poll. For the sake of Washington, D.C., and the children of that city, I hope your boss can pull off a win. I say that even though he’s a Democrat and I’m a Republican. You all are doing the right things. If the numbers don’t improve, though, you have to think about your next step.

  “Come to New Jersey!”

  I told him I was honored that he called but added: “I’m fully confident that my boss will win reelection, and I’m dedicated to being here for four more years.”

  “Okay, kid,” he replied. “I respect the optimism. Just know that if it goes south, I’m going to be the first person calling you on September fifteenth.”

  ON SEPTEMBER 14, FENTY lost, by a wide margin, defined by race and class. He won the white wards and lost the black ones. I sent him an email expressing my remorse for not having been able to do anything to help him and, more important, for the fact that our reforms had played a large role in his defeat.

  “It has been my honor to work under you for the past 3 years. This country and this city owe you a debt of gratitude for the incredible courage you’ve shown in fighting for children. I regret that I didn’t do a better job to ensure that you won this primary election. I will follow your lead from here, as always. If you feel this is over I will respect that. If you believe that the right thing is to forge ahead on a slightly different tack, I am ready to fight on.”

  At 2:17 the next morning Fenty replied:

  “I can’t answer the political question just yet, though those things r usually a long shot. What I do know is that as long as I live I will never do anything as meaningful or important as what our team has been able 2 do in reforming dcps and energizing this city and so it is 2 u that I will b 4ever grateful. No regrets whatsoever.”

  For the first time since I became chancellor, I cried.

  DAVIS GUGGENHEIM, AN AWARD-WINNING documentary filmmaker, had interviewed me a few times while he was putting together his film on public education. I hadn’t heard much about it. The night after the election, KMJ and I were invited to the film’s debut in Washington, at the Newseum on Pennsylvania Avenue.

  Guggenheim had titled the film Waiting for “Superman.” It was a lyrical, truthful, honest portrayal of the dire straits of public education in America. The title’s conceit was that the nation was waiting for Superman to swoop in and save the schools; meanwhile, few were actually doing anything to fix schools that were failing kids. Guggenheim portrayed me and my work in D.C. to illustrate the struggle.

  After the film, I spoke on a panel that included Randi Weingarten. We didn’t have much to say to one another. What went unsaid was that she felt victorious in knocking off Fenty; I felt secure in that we had negotiated a game-changing contract.

  Someone asked for my reaction to Vincent Gray’s victory.

  “Devastating,” I responded.

  I used the word to describe the reaction from education reformers. I’d fielded calls all day from colleagues who were terrified that Fenty’s defeat would dissuade other politicians from taking on the unions. What politician in his or her right mind would try to reform schools as Fenty had?

  The media took my “devastating” line to mean that Gray would be devastating for the schools. That’s not at all what I meant, but “devastating” set the tone for the debate about whether I might remain in D.C. and serve as chancellor under Gray.

  I knew very firmly that I could not finish the job if Vincent Gray was my boss. No way. He never got over the way Fenty presented me to him as chancellor. As city council chair, he
had kept me at arm’s length, played politics with schools and students, and berated me in public hearings. I flat-out didn’t trust him. In my mind, he couldn’t hold a candle to Fenty.

  Gray and I circled one another. We met for an absurd discussion in which he lectured me about higher education and other random topics instead of talking about whether it made sense for us to work together. For me it was a foregone conclusion that it was the end of my time as chancellor. I wouldn’t be able to continue without Fenty’s solid, uncompromising support.

  I had one move to make before I stepped down. We had assembled a terrific team of talented people. I had broken the china. Who could keep the team together and continue to the next stage of reform?

  The answer was Kaya Henderson, my deputy. She had been working with DCPS since our days with The New Teacher Project. She had been by my side for the past three years. She had been the lead negotiator on the contract. I had a strong sense that Vincent Gray would keep her on as chancellor.

  But was she up for the task? I asked if she would take over as acting chancellor.

  “I need to think on it,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m up for being number one.”

  “The city council would support you,” I said. “Vincent Gray and you get along. You know this system better than anyone. You can make sure our work continues.”

  The next day Kaya agreed to take over if I could get Gray to agree.

  On October 13, I announced my resignation, and that Kaya Henderson would take my place. I believed in my heart that it was better for students to have Kaya leading the schools rather than have me stay and be at constant odds with the new mayor. That dynamic wouldn’t be good for the city. I was at peace.

  A few weeks later KMJ and I attended “A Standing Ovation for DC Teachers” at the Kennedy Center. It was the first annual gala by the D.C. Education Fund to recognize highly effective teachers, based on our IMPACT evaluation system. The first class had 663. The concert hall was all decked out. “Looks like we’re ready for the Oscars,” Kaya said.